


A Singular Pursuit

by cartanica



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-09-25 04:49:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17114789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cartanica/pseuds/cartanica
Summary: Prince Noctis has his heart set on the Chancellor of Niflheim. Everyone else tries to deal.





	A Singular Pursuit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [prince_noctease](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prince_noctease/gifts).



> Hello, prince_noctease! I loved your prompt about Noct being the initiator in an Ardynoct relationship and have _so_ many stories I want to write for it, but since it's the holidays I took a lighthearted direction. I had fun writing this and I hope you enjoy it too. Happy New Year!

 

 

 

 

"Hey, guys," Noctis says as casually as he can, setting the game controller on the floor next to the cushion he is sitting on.  "What would you get as a gift for someone you want to get to know better? If they live far away. Like, different continent far away."

"That's very specific," Ignis murmurs, just as Prompto gets this excited look on his face and says, "It's Luna, isn't it?"

Gladio leans over on the couch, places a hand on Noct's shoulder and says in a low voice, "Who do I have to bury?"

Noct looks from Ignis to Gladio, flops back down on the couch, and sighs. "Are you guys gonna help me out or not?"

 

* * *

 

 

Prompto promises not to tell a soul.

He hears Noct out for the better part of half an hour, and when Noct finally runs out of words he takes a deep breath, looks Noct in the eye and says, "Man, you have the worst taste in guys. But I'm with you to the end."

Prompto waits until Noct has disappeared into the kitchen for food and he hears the sound of the cabinet door opening, then pulls out his phone.

Noct comes back from the kitchen with a bag of chips and the display of his phone lit up, open to a text from Ignis that just says _Noct, could we have a word?_

"You told him," Noct says flatly.

Prompto holds up both hands. "Hey, man, it's Iggy. He needs to know. Also, he'd skin me and make soup with my bones if I didn't."

"Fair enough," Noct says, though his forehead furrows in worry. He taps out a response, then puts his phone away and holds out the open bag. "Chips?"

 

* * *

 

 

It is not Regis' proudest day when he hears, on the second morning of a hard-won peace summit with Niflheim and Accordo, that the Crownsguard had had to eject a rather inebriated Crown Prince of Lucis from the guest quarters the former evening.

At the next meeting recess, he stops the Chancellor as the Niflheim envoys file out of the meeting hall. "Please forgive my son's trespasses. I hope he was not overly rude."

"Rude is not precisely the word I would use," Chancellor Izunia says primly, and leaves Regis to puzzle over that cryptic reply.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Gladio agrees to help, but also says he needs more information on the situation and asks Noct to drop by for a chat. He makes hot chocolate while waiting and when Noct arrives he pushes a mug into the prince's hands. "Sit."

Noct sits as nervously as a Crownsguard initiate taking his allegiance oaths while Gladio paces. "We can start with the basics. You met this girl—"

"It's a guy," Noctis says into the cup.

"—guy," Gladio says. "You met this guy—where? In school?"

"In the Citadel."

"Hm." Gladio mentally goes over the potential candidates. There are a small number of young men in the Crownsguard trainee pool, none of which he would have guessed were Noct's type but until now Gladio had had no idea what Noct's type even _was._

The answer is looking increasingly like: outside of Gladio's area of expertise.

"Crownsguard?" Gladio ventures.

"No, a politician."

"That may be complicated if he is part of your future council—"

"He's from Niflheim," Noctis says tersely. He is perched on the edge of the couch, hands curled into fists at his sides and looking thoroughly exhausted.

Gladio takes a deep breath, mentally goes over every quote he has memorized from Henruit on the nature of love. He stands up from his couch, crosses over to his bookshelf, and pulls out the well-thumbed guide to Tenebraean flower language. He holds it out in one hand and claps Noct on the back with the other. "This might be useful for you. Good luck."

"Thanks, man," Noct says as he takes the slim volume and slides it carefully into his bag.

 

* * *

 

The Marshal catches him in the Citadel's corridor.

"Noctis," the Marshal says gravely, "there is a message from Chancellor Izunia. For you specifically. He says to inform you not to send personal correspondence to his office, and also that he is deathly allergic to flowers." The Marshal folds up the note, then adds, "Noctis, you are aware that relations with Niflheim are currently very tense?"

"I am."

"... And that you are not to act of your own accord to harm a high-ranking official of an enemy nation, regardless of any personal enmity you may have?"

"That's not..." Noctis blinks, then nods. "Yes, sir."

 

* * *

 

"Ignis, the favour I asked last time..."

"I got the address," Ignis replies. He removes a folded sheet from his bag and hands it over.

Noctis takes it with some surprise. "How does one even get the private home address of someone in government?"

"A combination of intel from years of prior cyberintelligence efforts, and a certain amount of nudging in the right direction," Ignis replies. He pauses, then opens his mouth again. "Noctis, I apologize for sounding like a broken record but I would strongly advise that you reconsider—"

"—Ignis," Noctis says quietly, meeting Ignis' eyes. "You said before that you would stand by my choices."

"I did, and I will." Ignis has gone absolutely still in that way that means he is fighting with himself over something. "If there is nothing else, your highness, I will take my leave."

Looking at his departing back, Noctis almost feels bad.

 

* * *

 

To:scientiai@crownsguard.luc  
From: donotreply@citadel.luc  
Subject: Requested correspondence attached. EOM

 

 

 

> To: vbesithia@niflheim.gov  
>  From: aizunia@niflheim.gov  
>  Subject: A problem of some consequence
> 
> _Besithia,_
> 
> _(I assure you that you would be the last person I approach with matters concerning my well-being but I have been informed that you are Niflheim's unrivaled expert on the subject.)_
> 
> _How does one deflect unwanted romantic attentions?_
> 
>  
> 
> \--
> 
>   
>  To: aizunia@niflheim.gov  
>  From: vbesithia@niflheim.gov  
>  Subject: Re: A problem of some consequence is the magitek lab break-in you never tracked down, not your love life
> 
> _Izunia,_
> 
> _(I assure you that were the fate of our nation not in your hands I would tell you in far more lurid detail where you can shove it.)_
> 
> _Discreet assassination is generally a permanent solution._
> 
>  
> 
> \--
> 
>  
> 
> To:  
>  From:  
>  Subject: [DELETED] [DRAFT]
> 
> _They are Lucian royalty_
> 
>  
> 
> To:  
>  From:  
>  Subject: [DELETED] [DRAFT]
> 
> _The individual in question is too prominent. For reasons I will not go into, they also cannot be allowed to die yet_
> 
>  
> 
> To: vbesithia@niflheim.gov  
>  From: aizunia@niflheim.gov  
>  Subject: That was a technicality. This is a matter of national security
> 
> _Besithia,_
> 
> _Unfortunately, unworkable._
> 
>  
> 
> \--
> 
>  
> 
> To: aizunia@niflheim.gov  
>  From: vbesithia@niflheim.gov  
>  Subject: Niflheim has exactly 100 problems and you are all of them
> 
> _Izunia,_
> 
> _In decreasing order of severity: permanent incapacitation, excommunication, a restraining order, or a marriage of convenience to someone else._
> 
> _Or you could just talk to them and explain your position._
> 
>  
> 
>  

* * *

 

 

The parcels are always unopened, sometimes have unidentifiable dark stains on their sides, and always have REFUSED - RTS written over every side in heavy red ink.

Aiden is just a desk clerk, and on principle he should be more annoyed with this customer who is costing Lucian Postal Service far more than he pays in postage with every international shipment that is eventually returned. But when the quiet young man with the beautiful eyes comes in on the third Monday afternoon of the month, and his face falls when he is handed his returned package again, Aiden cannot help shaking his head in apology. "Sorry, man. All the way from Niff, even..."

"It's fine," the man called Noct Gar replies. "Can I send another one?"

 

 

* * *

 

 

_My dearest Noctis,_

_Have you considered just talking to them?_

_Yours always,_ _  
_ _Luna_

 

 

* * *

 

 

The next time they meet face to face is on the pier of Galdin Quay at midday, when the sun blisters down over the pier and its vast expanse of sand. Over the calm clear ocean, not a ship is in sight. 

All four of Noctis' group are eyeing the Chancellor of Niflheim suspiciously and Ardyn looks supremely uncomfortable as he says, "Prince Noctis, I have been told that the wisest course of action is to clear the air with you. So, explain yourself."

At Gladio's side, Prompto fidgets.

"I know—" Noctis cuts himself off like he's trying to find the words, then they fall out as if he has been rehearsing them for days. "I know everything, Ardyn Izunia. I know your real name is Ardyn Lucis Caelum. I know who you were, and who you are, that I will have to kill you some day. And I think that's pretty unfair to both of us, and I would like for us to at least understand each other first." He pauses. "I exist only because you do, and I think that makes you quite important to me, wouldn't you say?"

And Ardyn lets out a breath he did not know he had been holding, because Noctis's little crush isn't about redemption after all, or saving Ardyn's accursed soul from the darkness or the emptiness or the solitude, or any of the myriad horrifying possibilities Ardyn had mulled over with the tonberries in his quarters over the long dark nights when the rest of Niflheim was sleeping. It is just a young man's misguided sense of justice and fairness, and Ardyn makes a bet with a daemon in his head that it will not last longer than when Insomnia burns in two days' time.

Outwardly he only chuckles and slings an arm around Noctis' shoulders. "Well then, my boy, I think we have a lot of catching up to do."

As he steers Noctis away he can still hear Besithia's spawn saying nervously, "Man, why did that sound like a _terrible_ idea?"

 

 


End file.
